• This is the fourth installment in Star Trek: Millennium.
• It was posted to the net on August 3, 2001.

"How should we kill him?"

The comment, made flatly, without any attempt to lighten it, made B'Elanna Torres pause in the middle of her rant. The Klingon stopped in her tracks, regarding her spouse of less than a year in complete surprise.

"What?"

Ro Laren, security chief for the starship Millennium, lifted an eyebrow and stared at the other woman without flinching. "Obviously, he'll have to be removed," she said evenly. "It should look like an accident, of course."

B'Elanna started to smile, hesitated as she decided her partner wasn't joking, and tried to find something intelligent to say. "You can't be serious," she said, putting her hands on her hips. A strand of long, wavy hair fell into her dark eyes, and she tossed her head, removing it from the facial features that boasted the ridged forehead of a Klingon mother, and the softer jaw and cheekbones of her Human father.

"Then what the hell do you want to do about this?" Ro snapped, abruptly angry. "Because I can assure you, it can't continue the way it has. If the captain has to step in here, Lanna, you can consider your career as chief engineer of the Millennium officially over."

B'Elanna started to speak, and then stopped, surprised by the snap in the Bajoran's tone. Ro uncoiled from her chair, a slim woman who moved with deadly grace, a product of her advanced tactical training. Dark of hair and eyes, ripples on the bridge of her nose that denoted her Bajoran heritage, the woman was clearly irritated, and B'Elanna felt a little blind-sided. She had been fully involved in an outraged outburst about Zar Tulek, and was not pleased suddenly to have to deal with an opposing viewpoint. She had assumed her partner shared her opinion of the ship's first officer. In fact, she had been sure of it.

"What's going on here? You don't like the idea of him being posted here any better than I do."

"You're right, I don't," Ro admitted, lifting her chin. "The thought of someone who looks like a Cardassian being my superior officer, of actually having the assignment that would have been mine but for decisions I made in the last year, is almost more than I can bear. In fact, I made my displeasure very clear to the captain, and you know what happened next. I was offered a transfer, no questions asked, nor any leeway given, just as it would to any Starfleet officer who couldn't control personal latent prejudices. There's nothing more to do here, Lanna; it's over. It's time to adjust and move on."

"Just because we can't do anything about it right now..." B'Elanna began.

"No," Ro said firmly. "You have to understand, the security of this vessel is my responsibility, B'Elanna. That includes stepping in when a senior officer is acting in an insubordinate manner to the ship's exec."

B'Elanna exhaled slowly. "Is that what you're doing?"

"I'm putting it in terms you can understand," Ro said, her arms crossed over her chest, her brows drawn down. "Commander Zar is the ship's first officer. He's not going to go away, and this continued antagonistic attitude toward him only disrupts the smooth functioning of the vessel. So unless you want to kill him, there's no way around this." She paused, a muscle in her jaw twitching slightly, then added in a lower tone; "Besides, he's not such a bad guy."

B'Elanna felt her jaw drop. "What?"

Ro looked uncomfortable suddenly, glancing away. "You're not working with him every day, Lanna, like I am," she said in a more conciliatory tone, trying to explain. "That makes it easier for you to continue to see him only as a representative of the people we fought in the Maquis, of the conquerors who occupied Bajor and committed atrocities to those living in the Demilitarized Zone. But I have to deal with the man, and that forces me to look at him as something more than just another Cardassian."

"He looks like one of them," B'Elanna said hotly.

"But he's not. He's as much a part of my people, as he is of them. More importantly, he's a Starfleet officer, and even if we can't respect him, B'Elanna, we have to start respecting the uniform."

"What if I can't?" B'Elanna said, emotion thick in her throat. "Those monsters slaughtered the Maquis, Laren. They're conniving, vicious bastards who can't be trusted as far as you can throw them..."

"Is that what you're going to say to Captain Janeway?"

The question, asked in an eerily calm voice, stopped the Klingon before she was able to get rolling on her second rant regarding the issue. Janeway was a formidable woman, a person whom few dared oppose. B'Elanna certainly wasn't about to.

"You think he'd go to the captain about me?" she asked in a smaller voice.

Ro swallowed. "He wouldn't have to, B'Elanna." She moved closer and looked down into her partner's eyes, her expression dark and immovable. "It would be my responsibility to do so as chief of security."

B'Elanna was floored. "You wouldn't."

"Don't force me into a position where I'd have to, B'Elanna," Ro said gratingly. "Don't push it so far that I'm left with no other option than to choose between my loyalty to you and my loyalty to Janeway." She stared at her partner, her face softening, her tone altering to one of pleading. "You know I would choose you, Lanna, but is that what you really want for both of us? This continued animosity isn't accomplishing anything, and the eventual consequences would finish us both in Starfleet. In the end, it will all be for nothing. We're not fighting a Cardassian here, we're fighting a fellow officer. Even if we somehow found a way to win, we'd still lose. Deep in your heart, you know that."

B'Elanna met her steady gaze, searching her brooding features, reading the sincerity in the dark eyes. Frustrated, she turned away, her fists clenched at her sides.

"You don't know what it's like..." she began.

"I don't know what it's like?" Ro repeated incredulously.

B'Elanna caught herself. "That's not what I meant." She felt pain twist inside her. "Laren, they're all dead, and I wasn't there to fight with them."

She was speaking of the Maquis, an outlaw band of freedom fighters who had opposed the Cardassian tyranny even when the Federation and Starfleet wouldn't because of political necessity and an uneasy alliance forged with a treaty. Pursued into the Badlands by a Cardassian cruiser, B'Elanna, Ro, their cell leader, Chakotay, and other Maquis were caught in an energy pulse which swept them 70,000 light-years away, deep into the heart of the Delta Quadrant. There, they had forged an alliance with Janeway and her starship, the mixed crew taking seven years to return to their home in the Alpha Quadrant. While they were gone, the rest of the resistence group had been killed by the Cardassians and the Dominion, an alliance that subsequently plunged the entire quadrant into a war.

B'Elanna and Ro had missed that, as well. By the time Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant, the Dominion had been soundly defeated, the Cardassian Empire lay in ruins, and those who had been their bitter enemies now required Federation aid to rebuild their homeworld.

"You had no closure, Lanna," Ro said gently. "Neither of us did. But Zar isn't the enemy, and if we persist in making him one, it's only going to hurt us in the long run. I don't want to see you hurt."

B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest, her heart aching. She felt her partner move closer until she was right behind her, putting her hands tentatively on the Klingon's shoulders. Head bent, tears of frustration and sorrow stinging her eyes, it was countered somewhat by the comfort of Ro's warm breath on the back of her neck.

"Let it go," the Bajoran whispered, squeezing her gently. "Please, Lanna."

B'Elanna exhaled and turned, surrendering to the embrace that surrounded her.

"I'll try," she allowed finally in a low growl. "That's all I can promise."

"That's all I ask," Ro said into her hair, holding her tightly. "You don't have to become friends with him, Lanna, just be ... professional whenever you run into him, all right? It's your duty."

B'Elanna slipped her arms around the Bajoran's slender waist and nodded, her face buried in the taller woman's shoulder. "All right." She wasn't happy about it, but for her spouse, she could do anything, even talk to a Cardassian as if he were worth the effort. The two women stood there for several moments, trying to find a peace in being together, while the rest of the universe seem to offer little.

"He's okay?" B'Elanna asked finally, in a quiet voice.

Ro nodded. "He can't help how he looks, Lanna. He doesn't act anything like ... one would expect from his appearance. He's smart, professional, and a hell of a lot more tolerant about everyone around him than we are about him." Her hand moved in slow circles at the small of B'Elanna's back, soothing her. "He was well within his rights to have you up on disciplinary charges. At the very least, he could have registered a complaint with the captain. Instead, he let me handle it."

"Okay, okay," B'Elanna grumbled, surrendering to the inevitable. "He's a real sweetheart. Good for him."

Ro chuckled, a low laugh of mild amusement. "I wouldn't go that far, but he's been a decent guy as far as I can see. He deserves better than us using him as a convenient target for all the Cardassians we wish were dead, or better yet, had killed ourselves."

"Well, Seven likes him," the engineer allowed grudgingly. "I guess he can't be all bad."

"She's a pretty good judge of character," Ro agreed, speaking of the ship's resident Borg and science officer. The couple reluctantly released their embrace, and took a seat at the table in the dining nook of their quarters. "Apparently, he read her paper. Not only did he understand it, he actually liked it."

"Kahless," B'Elanna said, thinking of the scientific publication that her friend had written. Seven had been extremely proud of her effort, which was so advanced that even the Klingon, who was considered a genius in the engine room, couldn't follow it past the first page. "That definitely would have put him in her good graces."

"So, are you hungry?" Ro put her hands on the table top, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Shall we eat in?"

B'Elanna wrinkled her nose. "Let's go to the Nexus," she said, referring to the lounge on deck twelve which had become the social center of the starship. "I feel like having a crowd around me tonight."

Ro nodded. "All right. Do you want to change, or go as we are?"

B'Elanna glanced down, checking her uniform for conduit fluid or other effluvia. Starfleet ships were supposed to be pristine, but as someone who had worked with them for a long time, B'Elanna knew better, even in a new vessel such as the Millennium. Crawling around Jefferies tubes had a way of leaving varied types of residue no matter how many junior officers cleaned them, or how careful the engineer in question was. For once, B'Elanna hadn't picked up much in the way of dust or dirt over the course of her duty shift.

"I think we're fine." Ro Laren, of course, was immaculate, trim and neat in her black and grey tunic, the gold collar sporting three pips, two gold, one dark to denote the Bajoran's rank, one grade above B'Elanna's senior lieutenant status. The security officer offered her a small smile and held out her hand which B'Elanna readily accepted, rising from her chair. To her mild surprise, Ro didn't let go, instead, pulling the smaller woman to her, moulding her body to hers.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

B'Elanna felt her lips curl upwards in a grin of pleasure. "Why no, I don't believe you have."

Ro smiled and dipped her head, covering the Klingon's lips with her own. B'Elanna returned the kiss, allowing a bit of passion to deepen it, though not too much. There would be plenty of time for that later, after they returned home from dinner. Ro's tongue flicked her lips gently as they parted, a subtle acknowledgement of that unspoken promise.

"Are you sure you want to go out?" Her voice was suddenly husky.

B'Elanna laughed, low and deep. "It'll do us good to get out. Most people on the ship don't even know we're married. It's probably time we started showing them that neither of us are available."

Ro drew back, an odd expression crossing her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

B'Elanna patted the Bajoran on the buttocks before releasing her, turning for the door with a grin on her face. "Hey, I heard about Lt. Watkins in biometrics," she said playfully over her shoulder as the couple exited their quarters. "He's let it be known around the lower decks that he can't wait to put the moves on you."

Ro frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," B'Elanna said easily, enjoying the opportunity to tease her usually stoic spouse. She tucked her arm in Ro's, pressing against her as they walked through the corridors. "Of course, once he gets a load of who he'd have to go through to get to you, I'm sure that'll be the end of it."

The expression that generated on the Bajoran's face was worth a chuckle all the way to the lounge.

She really had no intention of displaying any of her jealousy to the young woman, but if Seven could resist her spouse once Janeway sashayed into the ship's lounge in the young woman's favorite dress, looking as devastating as she could manage in the short amount of time she had, then the captain would know for sure that a problem was developing and take it from there. That the problem might be solely that of Janeway's was not something she was prepared to acknowledge quite yet, though a small voice in the back of her head snorted in disgust at the captain's rather immature plan.

The captain stopped dead just inside the doors of the lounge, tremendously shocked. She hadn't been in this area of the vessel since Millennium had left Utopia Planitia, and she belatedly realized that a few of her more adventurous crewmembers had been hard at work creating a decidedly unique atmosphere within the ship's main social area, one she had never quite experienced on a starship before. Noise from a multitude of loud and varied conversations swept over her like a wave, underlain with a soft throbbing beat of some alien music, making it difficult to hear herself think. Overhead, the normal subdued lighting had been dimmed even further, making the large room dark, though she could see that it was packed with officers and civilians relaxing from their alpha shift or readying themselves for the gamma, filling the tables and chairs. She was astonished to see that a space had been cleared at one end of the room, where people were actually dancing vigorously to the unfamiliar music, including B'Elanna and Ro who seemed to be enjoying themselves tremendously.

I really do need to pay more attention to what's happening in every area of my ship, Janeway thought grimly as she began to work her way through the crowd. No matter how big it is.

Holding court behind the long counter along one side of the room fronting the large replicators, there was an individual she didn't remember transferring onto her vessel. He was apparently acting as a combination host and bartender for the people crowding around and shouting drink orders at him. Initially, she thought he was a Bolian or Andorian, with the traditional blue skin. But the rest of his features ... the emerald hair with purple streaks, the upswept eyebrows that gave him a perpetually inquisitive expression, the pointed ears similar to Vulcan physiology ... defied any species identification she attempted to make.

"Captain," he cried out in delight as his reddish eyes abruptly lit on her in the crowd. Spreading his arms wide in an embracing gesture, he motioned for her to come over. "Welcome to the Nexus."

A garish sign high on the bulkhead behind him, flashing an almost painful neon pink, backed up his claim as to the lounge's new designation, and Janeway inhaled deeply, wondering who had done this to her ship, and more importantly, how she would deal with him once she found him. She also wondered how she would locate Seven in this mob. A few people unobtrusively edged away now that they recognized who the dynamic redhead in the tight blue dress really was, freeing up a stool at the bar. The captain was even more surprised to discover the ship's counselor was present, taking in the ambiance over a drink.

"Captain?" Kes greeted her in her melodious tones. Her blue eyes were amused, large for her elven features that were surrounded by a shock of shaggy blond hair. "I'm somewhat surprised to see you here this evening."

"Not nearly as surprised as I am," Janeway muttered, shooting the counselor a bemused stare as she slipped onto the stool. She was still boggled at the transformation of her ship's recreational area. "I don't remember authorizing this kind of decor for the crew lounge."

Kes offered her a small smile. "I'm sure you wouldn't have," she said with uncanny accuracy. "Which is undoubtedly why it was never brought to your attention. But the crew seems to enjoy it a great deal, and for those who prefer a more subdued atmosphere, there's always the civilian lounge on deck seventeen."

"What have they named that?" Janeway asked as a whiskey and soda she hadn't ordered was abruptly deposited in front of her, as if by magic. She shot an astonished look at the bartender who had already moved on to his other customers, wondering not only at the presumption, but how he had known what her favorite intoxicant was in the first place.

"It doesn't have a name," Kes informed her. "It's still just a lounge, very much as it was when the ship left Utopia Planitia. It does have a few additions, but not many."

"I'm relieved to hear that." Janeway tilted her head at the bartender who was laughing and joking with a group dressed in casual clothing. She couldn't tell if they were Starfleet, or more of the civilian complement of her crew. "Who's our host?"

"Paryk?" Kes said. "He's from the Onias Sector."

"Near the Romulan Neutral Zone," Janeway identified. "His species?"

"They call themselves the Y'ngZai."

"Civilian?"

"I believe so."

"What department is he assigned to?"

Kes blinked. "I'm not sure."

Janeway shook her head. The Millennium was such a large vessel, particularly in comparison to her previous command, that she was continually being confronted by complete strangers. Voyager had boasted a crew compliment of 141 ... 150 after the two crews, Maquis and Starfleet, had merged ... while this vessel carried eight times that amount. In fact, Seven's science section, including all the various departments, had nearly as many individuals on its roster as Voyager did, 148 people under the Borg's direct authority.

The captain was still getting used to those numbers, but it hadn't really been brought home to her until this night, sitting in the ship's lounge, looking around at people she didn't really recognize, but who easily recognized her, even in civilian clothes. Thinking of Seven brought her back to why she had ventured out this evening, and she glanced around the room, searching anxiously for her spouse.

"I don't suppose you've seen Seven?" she asked the counselor.

Kes lifted her head, peering briefly through the crowd, then dipped her head, indicating a direction. "She's at her regular table. Over there, on the other side of the dance floor."

Regular table? Janeway peered in that direction, finally spotting Seven in a corner booth, surrounded by a group of people which, to the captain's surprise, included her first officer, Zar. There was also the ever present Lenara Kahn who was sitting next to the blonde Borg, leaning into her as they talked. The entire group appeared to be in deep discussion, with intent faces, though occasionally, there was an outburst of laughter. Seven would then produce that small smile she offered whenever she was truly amused by something.

Janeway's jaw tensed as she watched them, her back teeth grinding together, a decided tightness developing in her chest. She was completely unaware of the counselor observing her with a speculative expression on her face.

"I envy you, Captain."

Janeway blinked, and glanced over at Kes in surprise. "What?"

Kes's gaze was serene and thoughtful. "You and Seven," she clarified. "You have such a wonderful marriage, united in love, yet both understanding how important it is to have individual interests."

"Uh," Janeway responded brilliantly, but Kes didn't seem to notice, continuing on without pause.

"You're strong enough to realize that you can't be everything for each other, and you're secure enough in each other's love to find it in other places, with other people. You'd be surprised at how many couples never learn that. It can cause some extensive problems for some, usually because they've bought into the myth that both parties are supposed to be exactly alike, to be interested only in the same things, when in fact, we are all unique, which is part of what draws people together to begin with."

"I see," Janeway said, not entirely sure what the counselor was saying, but feeling it was important for some reason. "Is there a lot of problem with that on a starship?"

"There can be," Kes said, taking a sip from her glass. "But no more than in any other type of lifestyle. It's merely ... for lack of a better term ... Human. Everyone goes into a marriage convinced that he or she will be able to change the other person into who they think they should be, and instead, usually discover that such an intention is completely unfeasible. Those who can't get past that revelation often end up destroying the relationship."

"Indeed," Janeway said slowly, feeling a decidedly queasy feeling in her stomach as she finally recognized what she was doing. She wondered if Kes had been trying to convey that message in her oblique fashion, or if it had simply been a comfortable discussion over a drink with a friend.

Just as Seven was enjoying.

Janeway looked back over at her spouse's table, and for the first time, was able to see that in the company of the Trill, as well as with the other members of the group surrounding her, Seven could be all that she could be; a brilliant mind freed to explore all the universe had to offer. Seeing the light in her partner's face, and the sheer exhilaration the Borg was experiencing in the heady discussions with her fellow scientists, Janeway suddenly felt rather small, and ashamed that she had ever thought to deny her partner the opportunity to pursue her individual happiness.

Lenara Kahn was not a beautiful woman in competition with her for the heart of Seven of Nine, nor was she a threat to their relationship. She was someone who could offer the Borg an intellectual stimulation that her spouse simply couldn't ... no matter how much the captain might have wanted to. Once understanding had dawned, Janeway was gradually able to feel a corresponding sense of joy, stirred by the knowledge that her partner was truly contented on an intellectual level. Smiling ruefully, Janeway realized she had been so concerned that Seven would not find the required intellectual inspiration to fulfill her on board Millennium, she hadn't realized that Seven had already sought out and found exactly what she needed. Janeway had been worried over nothing, and furthermore, had caught herself up in a futile and impolitic jealousy of Lenara Kahn for absolutely no reason other than the captain's irrational insecurities, and her fierce sense of competition.

"The more I learn, the less I know," she said softly.

"Captain?" Kes prompted, eyeing her with interest.

Janeway shook her head. "Nothing," she said as she picked up her glass. Lifting it in a silent toast to Kes, which the counselor returned, as if understanding exactly what Janeway's thought processes had been, they drank to friendship, and the evening, and the simple fact that they were alive and alert and had a whole universe to explore.

After draining her glass, Janeway rose from her stool, offering Kes an affectionate nod of farewell before she swept out of the lounge, heading back to her quarters. It was so ironic to her that she had gone there with the intention of luring Seven away from her evening out, and now that she was returning home alone, it was with the fervent hope that Seven would be able to enjoy herself fully for as however long as she wanted. Somehow, Janeway had been reassured of the security of their bond, her jealousy giving way to a happiness that her partner had found a mind so much like her own in the Trill scientist.

"One of these days," she muttered out loud to herself as she entered her quarters, "I'm actually going to figure these things out before they need to hit me between the eyes."

The quiet surroundings of her cabin did not serve up any reply to her statement, but by now, she didn't really require a response. It was no longer lonely here in these familiar surroundings, filled with the images and items of her life with Seven. Instead, it felt peaceful, a sanctuary offered to the captain to be alone with her thoughts as she retrieved her dinner from beneath the counter, deactivating the stasis wrap that released the steam and heat of the casserole, filing the air with its mouth-watering scent. She ate her solitary meal with complete enjoyment, and after cleaning up, she took a book and a tall glass of wine into the ensuite. Setting the items nearby, she drew a long hot bath, filling it with oils and bubbles, and pampered herself completely before turning in for the night.

She was asleep when her partner finally returned home, slipping quietly between the sheets to stretch out beside her on the mattress. The captain stirred only long enough to wrap herself around the lanky form as it joined her in the warm haven of their bed. Seven's familiar embrace was like a balm in the night, and unconsciously, Janeway's lips curled up in a smile of contentment as she was cradled by the woman she loved, and whom she knew loved her with an enduring commitment that would never end.

Janeway shifted in her arms, apparently awake already, or waking when Seven had, humming quietly in sleepy pleasure as she reached down to take Seven's hand and bring it up to cover her breast. Delighted by the implicit invitation, the Borg made a soft rumble of growing desire in her throat, kissing along the line of her partner's neck, feeling the throb of the captain's pulse beneath her lips. The tender protrusion of nipple grew stiff beneath her palm, and she smoothed over it in slow circles, causing her partner to shiver happily, her breath increasing audibly.

Reaching behind her, the captain ran her hand over Seven's hip and leg, caressing her lavishly with her palm, then reached back further to cup the young woman's buttock, grasping it to pull her closer. Seven exhaled slowly, feeling the tingles of anticipation ripple through her in response, pressing her groin against the soft curves. When the captain shifted, pulling momentarily away from her, the Borg didn't resist, knowing that Janeway was only turning over so that she could be face to face with her spouse in order to embrace fully. They kissed immediately, mouths seeking each other instinctively, without thought, a connection of lips and teeth and tongues tasting deeply of the other, bodies pressing together in sensual joy, warm curves that moulded and fit together, respiration gradually escalating as their hands moved over each other with supple skill.

Insinuating her thigh between Janeway's, Seven spread her legs, opening herself and her partner at the same time. Together, they reached down, touching each other in the heat and increasing moisture, fingers growing slick as they fondled tender flesh that firmed even as it grew more sensitive. Probing gently, they found entry into intimate recesses, moving naturally into a rhythm that fanned the fire inside, building the heat steadily. By this time, they had to leave off their kisses simply so that they could breathe, harsher, rasping, inhaling deep gulps of oxygen interspersed with groans and whimpers and subtle cries of quiet urgency as they surged against each other in wordless demand. Their fondling quickened, the peak dancing tantalizingly beyond them as a certain tiny desperation enhanced their caresses. Until, finally, they were there, the wave of ecstasy sweeping over them simultaneously, or at least, so close together that the seconds between were insignificant. The soft rush shuddered exquisitely through taut bodies, internal muscles clenching against long, probing digits inside until the pleasure spent itself sweetly, easing them back to themselves and each other. Still cupping each other intimately, they unwound into the languid relaxation of warm afterglow.

"Hmm, good morning, love," Janeway said finally, her voice throaty with lazy satisfaction.

Seven smiled. "Good morning, Kathryn," she said as she drew Janeway to her once more, tucking her beneath her chin in a warm embrace.

"How much time do we have?"

Seven glanced up at the chronometer embedded in the headboard, noting the time.

"Twenty minutes."

"Damn, just enough time to fall asleep again," Janeway mumbled. "Not enough time to enjoy it."

"Indeed." Seven knew exactly what she meant. "Do you wish to get up now?"

The captain snuggled closer. "No," she said, her tone softening. "I like it exactly where I am, thank you very much." She paused, and Seven could hear her swallow. "Talk to me, darling. Keep me awake until we're required to get out of bed."

Amused, Seven brushed her lips over temple. "What would you like to discuss?"

Janeway yawned like a kitten and rubbed her cheek against the Borg's chin. "Whatever you'd like." She paused. "I popped by the Nexus last night. Why didn't you tell me it had been turned into a night club?"

"I did not see you there," Seven said, mildly surprised.

Janeway managed to convey the impression of a shrug without actually moving ... a phenomenon that amazed the Borg. "I only stopped by for a moment. Kes and I had a drink, and then I came home to spend a lovely evening with a book and the bathtub." She paused, wiggling so that she was closer to the young woman. "When did it turn into the equivalent of a stationside bar?"

"Not long after leaving Utopia Planitia," Seven explained. "I believe Lt. Paris was instrumental in the design concept behind the renovations."

Janeway made a small sound of exasperated amusement. "I should have known. It's obviously become quite the social center."

"From my observation, the crew appreciate it greatly. Even those that find it too ... stimulating ... do not object, they merely retire to the civilian lounge on deck seventeen."

"So I've been told. Perhaps you and I should go there for dinner some evening."

Seven considered that, hesitating. "It would not be as entertaining as the Nexus."

Her spouse chuckled. "All right, one night, we'll go to the Nexus." She yawned again. "How did it get that name, anyway?"

"I believe it was ..."

"Lt. Paris," Janeway said in perfect chorus with the young woman, and laughed again.

"Apparently, it had something to do with a vision he had one morning."

"After a night of imbibing, no doubt. Well, I have to admit, I've envisioned a few spatial anomalies myself after a difficult evening."

"You mean an intoxicating evening," Seven clarified.

"That, too." She was silent for a moment, her eyes sliding shut, and Seven nudged her.

"Kathryn?"

The captain opened her eyes, blinking sleepily. "Damn. I'd better get up."

Seven observed with complete enjoyment as Janeway stretched lithely before rolling out of bed, throwing the sheets aside to reveal her compact and naked form. Tilting her head, the Borg watched the capain walk into the ensuite, her eyes lingering on the way the muscles in the captain's buttocks and legs rippled and flowed together. Seven wasn't entirely sure why the way Janeway looked and moved appeared far more aesthetically pleasing than observing other individuals, regardless of her feelings for her. A body was a body, after all, which, in truth, was only the physical shell containing the essence of whom she loved. Yet Seven continued to find the captain's body completely absorbing. She adored watching it, touching it ... thinking about it during her rare idle moments.

Bemused, Seven stretched, and then rose from the cozy comfort of their bed. Retrieving her robe, she pulled it on before moving out to the couple's living area where she programmed a breakfast menu into the replicator and activated the coffee maker. She moved by a uniformed Janeway on her way back through the bedroom, the captain taking the opportunity to pat the Borg familiarily on her buttock in passing. Amused, Seven took a quick shower before pulling on her uniform and putting up her hair. Fixing two gold pips to her collar, she took a last look in the mirror to make sure she looked properly official.

Out in the living area, she joined Janeway at the table, gratified to see the captain had waited on breakfast until the Borg had finished in the ensuite. As they sat down, she offered her spouse a small smile, warmed as Janeway returned it, her eyes a soft blue.

"What do you have planned for today?" Janeway bit into her toast vigorously with her strong, white teeth.

Seven flicked an eyebrow at her. "Apparently, I am required to assimilate two pilots into my science section and assign them tasks in various departments on an interim basis. I must assemble a list of duties suitable for their skill level before they arrive next week."

Janeway offered a crooked grin. "Don't you hate it when administrative decisions from the bridge disrupt your smoothly running department?"

Seven merely shot her a dark look, causing the captain to laugh. The Borg knew that the captain and Commander Zar had a good reason for dispersing the fleet pilots throughout the ship for additional officer training, but it didn't mean she had to like it. Trying to train personnel to work in the various science departments to which they would only be assigned a few days before being rotated to another section, would be difficult. It meant creating a training schedule of sorts for her current personnel that was flexible enough to incorporate newcomers at a moment's notice. Seven didn't do flexible very well, particularly when it came to science. She preferred things to be organized and clearly defined.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Janeway said, getting up from the table to retrieve another cup of coffee. As she poured the dark brew into her mug from the pot at the counter, she offered the Borg a somewhat mischievous look. "Besides, you should never achieve perfection, darling. If you did, what would there be left to strive for?"

"Maintaining that perfection," Seven said in the sort of voice that indicated that captain should have realized that.

That provoked a playful nibble on the back of her neck as Janeway passed behind her on the way back to her chair, and Seven smiled faintly as she finished her cereal.

"We have a mutual off day coming up," the captain said casually as she sipped her coffee. "Would you like to do anything in particular?"

Seven shook her head. "How we spend the time is irrelevant," she said, not quite paying attention to how that might sound. Then, as Janeway's face began to fall, added quickly, and with complete sincerity, "So long as I can spend each and every moment with you."

Janeway blinked, and smiled crookedly. "Sweet-talker."

Seven lifted a brow, but did not respond to the accusation that was a frequent one from her spouse, nor did she consider it an accurate assessment. She was rarely facetious in her comments to Janeway, particularly when it came to how she felt about her. Her emotion for the captain had only grown stronger the longer they had been together, and if perhaps they were not as quick to take note of it as they had been when they first entered the relationship, instead falling into a more comfortable interaction with each other, the love itself still burned with an unceasing energy.

After they finished up their breakfast and tidied up, they both returned briefly to the ensuite where they cleaned their teeth, made a final visual check as to their professional appearance, then returned to the living area. Janeway hesitated briefly by the private turbolift access that would carry her directly to her ready room.

"Darling?"

Seven, on her way out the door to start her day, paused and turned back. She was mildly surprised, though hardly displeased when her partner slipped her arms around her waist and kissed her soundly. Enthusiastically, Seven returned the kiss, holding the captain tightly.

"I love you," Janeway whispered, once they had parted. "Once in a while, I have the great fortune to realize exactly how much."

Seven nuzzled the starship captain indulgently, knowing that once they stepped outside the quarters, it wasn't the sort of behavior she could pursue.

"I love you, Kathryn," she said sincerely.

"Have a good day, my love. I'll be thinking of you."

"I shall be thinking of you, as well," Seven promised. Then, out of honesty, she felt compelled to add, "Not to the detriment of my duties."

Janeway laughed. "I'm sure."

The captain hugged her once more, and then released her to step onto the turbolift. Seven tilted her head as she watched the door slide shut, unsure what had prompted such an affectionate farewell from her spouse, but appreciating it, nonetheless. She headed off for the science department with a light heart, and the certainty that she was the most fortunate person in the quadrant ... if not the entire galaxy.

Nor was he particularly looking forward to working directly for Seven of Nine. Rumours about the Borg science officer ran rampant through the lower decks, ranging from the absurd to the terrifying, not the least of which was that she had once assimilated an entire prison of alien criminals in order to rescue the captain. He had also discovered, through the gossip, that the two women were actually married to each other. Marcos wondered how a captain and chief science officer managed their professional life together when their personal life was also involved. More importantly, how much additional authority did that give Seven over other senior officers?

Ultimately, he supposed, it didn't matter. Seven was the section chief and was ranked over him and T'Shanik, regardless of anything else that might be involved. How much seniority that entailed was irrelevant at this stage of his career. As they waited, the young man took the opportunity to glance around the office. It was austere, without any frills or decorative touches to indicate what kind of person Seven was, which he supposed, was indicative enough. Beside a rather ugly little sculpture, there was a single image on the shelf running behind the desk, small and unobtrusive, in a silver frame. A closer glance revealed it to be Seven, the captain and some kind of animal, a dog with long, reddish hair, posed together on a grassy lawn. The captain was smiling, though Seven's features remained sober, and she was dressed in a form fitting outfit of blue and grey rather than a Starfleet uniform.

Outside the door, Marcos could hear the personnel working in the large main lab of astrometrics; talking, exchanging information, sometimes even loudly, with an infrequent burst of laughter. It didn't seem to be an oppressive work environment, but then, the Borg wasn't present, was she? It was entirely possible that the staff took their opportunities to be Human when they could, and immediately went quiet when their superior arrived. With a certain astonishment, Marcos realized that there was a small trickle of what might have been fear rippling through his belly. Was he actually frightened of this Seven of Nine? He had never encountered a Borg before, even one that had been severed from the Collective.

"Ensign?"

He twitched and glanced over at T'Shanik who was regarding him with a faintly raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Is something wrong? You appear ... unduly apprehensive."

"You're not?" he blurted before realizing that, of course, she wouldn't be, and even if she were, a Vulcan would never admit to it. But to his surprise, she looked just the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

"I, too, hold certain apprehensions about this assignment."

He considered that, not entirely sure how he should respond. Not only was he surprised by her admission, but it also served to make him even more nervous.

"Why?" he asked finally.

She hesitated and began to speak, but there was the subtle sound of footsteps approaching, and they both became quiet, stiffening to attention. Seven of Nine was a majestic woman, tall, attractively proportioned, with ice blue eyes set in narrow features. Her blonde hair was drawn tightly back in a bun, giving her an austere look, while the cybernetic implants adorning her face, an eyepiece curving around her left brow, a starburst on her right cheek, were subtle reminders that they were dealing with someone who was no longer entirely Human.

"Ensign Marcos," she identified as she went around the desk. "Lt. T'Shanik."

The Borg settled gracefully into her chair, and regarded them much as one might regard a couple of not particularly interesting insects. It was uncertain whether she would choose to examine them ... or squash them.

"Yes, sir," both junior officers responded promptly.

"You are early."

Seven's diction was clipped, precise, devoid of any warmth or humour. Marcos felt a shiver go down his spine.

"Yes, sir," T'Shanik, the senior of the pair, said. "We wanted to be ready for our duty shifts."

Seven tilted her head. "How long did you await my arrival?"

"Fifteen minutes," Marcos said, thinking that their apparent eagerness to get started would gain points in their favour, and then wished he hadn't when those cold eyes moved over to assess him impassively.

"Then it was an inefficient effort," she told him. She looked back at T'Shanik. "As well as an illogical one. You could have been doing something productive in that time. Alpha shift begins at precisely 0700 hours, nor do I report for duty before that time under normal circumstances. It was not necessary for you to arrive any earlier."

There didn't seem to be much they could say to that.

"Yes, sir," they responded.

Seven regarded them again, and then lifted her head, looking at something beyond them. Marcos didn't turn around, but he felt the presence of another being enter the office.

"Dr. Kahn." Seven identified the newcomer who turned out to be a Trill, statuesque with golden brown hair and wise eyes that took in the young officers at a glance. They were kind eyes as well, crinkled at the corners as if she found something amusing. Dressed in a lab coat over civilian clothes, rather than a uniform, Marcos wasn't sure of her position within the department, but it seemed to be significant since Seven was displaying a certain amount of respect for the older woman.

"These are our new additions?"

"Yes." Seven hesitated, and Marcos could have sworn that for just an instant, the chief science officer looked uncertain. "Perhaps you have a suggestion as to what form of training would be most immediately useful for these particular officers."

To the two junior crewmember's surprise, the Trill laughed, a musical chuckle that ... astonishingly ... drew a tiny smile from the Borg. It was so quick as to have been possibly imagined, but Marcos was sure that he had seen it on the rigid features.

"What sciences did you pursue at the Academy?" Kahn asked the pair. Marcos suspected from the depth and penetration of her gaze that she was one of the special members of her species, hosting a centuries old symbiont inside her abdominal cavity. She had that timeless, calm aura that he had encountered in other joined Trill.

"Astrophysics," Marcos managed to say calmly. "Propulsion theory."

"Astrophysics and communications," T'Shanik added.

Kahn smiled again. "Would you have expected anything else from cadets who majored in navigation and tactical helm training?" she asked the Borg dryly.

Seven lifted her brow. "It would be the obvious selection. At the moment, there are no openings in Astrometrics."

"They're not going to be here long enough to pursue a career in it," Kahn reminded her gently, with a softened look at the other two to indicate that she meant no offense. Marcos didn't take any. He certainly wasn't there to become a astrophysicist. "I'm sure we could find something for them to do."

"The goal of this project was for these officers to learn the duties specific to the area they're assigned," Seven countered. "I do not believe we would be fulfilling our part to utilize them as..." she hesitated as she searched for the proper term.

"Gophers?" Kahn prompted.

Seven blinked, obviously not understanding the reference, and Marcos was reminded again that although the woman was initially Human, she had been assimilated by the Borg years ago, as a young child.

"I see your point," Kahn allowed with a bit of a sigh. "Our orders were clear, weren't they? Very well. Why not treat them as if they were going to join each department full time? How far they advance will be entirely up to them."

Seven seemed to consider that, then nodded. "Yes, that is acceptable."

Marcos was horrified, and beside him, even T'Shanik looked vaguely disconcerted. Of course, he realized that every science officer had to start somewhere, but he had a strong idea that he didn't have the slightest clue how to go about it.

"Uh, sir?" he offered hesitantly, and instantly, that laser gaze was focused on him.

"Yes, Ensign Marcos?" Seven asked with chill politeness.

"What would we be expected to do in that event?" he said, struggling on.

Seven's brows drew down, and she glanced at Kahn who offered her a somewhat impish expression to indicate she didn't really know either. "We shall begin with a tour of the various scientific facilities," the Borg decided finally.

Marcos and T'Shanik exchanged a glance of trepidation, but Seven was rising to her feet, striding purposely from the office, and the pair had no choice but to follow her. Dr. Kahn trailed behind, an expression on her face that indicated she expected this to be entertaining in some fashion. The Borg led them to one end of the lab where a large imaging system dominated one wall, with an advanced sensor grid that could scan space for light-years beyond normal ship detection.

"This is the main astrometrics array," Seven said flatly.

"Seven of Nine and another Starfleet officer, Lt. Harry Kim, actually developed the prototype for this lab," Kahn interjected at that moment. "Of course, on Voyager, the crew was unable to draw on updated and new Federation scans or charts, so they were required to make their own way through the Delta Quadrant. Starfleet repeated the techniques that were developed by Seven and Mr. Kim, and incorporated them into this array, giving us an advantage in exploring this unknown area of space."

Seven seemed content to allow the civilian scientist to elaborate, and Marcos wondered why, since as the Starfleet officer, Seven was clearly the authority in this section. Seven and Dr. Kahn appeared to work more as a team, as opposed to being two people from different spectrums, a decided change from any other Starfleet/civilian collaboration he had encountered to date. Certainly, he was aware that the science section had far more civilians working in it than any other area on the ship, and perhaps this was part of incorporating them into the chain of command. Even space stations did not seem to have this ease of synergy. Marcos knew that because, as a ten year old, he and his family had moved from Greece to Deep Space 3 where his father had worked as a systems analyst for three years. Young Davinus remembered well the division between civilian and Starfleet personnel that arose at times, elaborated loudly by his father on more than one occasion. All of them had been relieved and happy to return to Earth.

"I understand this array is far more powerful than the traditional ship sensors," T'Shanik offered.

"It is," Seven said. "Most spatial anomaly can now be studied in detail at a safe distance, without requiring the ship to enter it."

Marcos wasn't sure that was an advantage. He preferred the adventure of actually exploring such anomalies up close, anxious to fly his first mission into one. Of course, he hadn't had the opportunity ever to do it for real, but he had enjoyed the challenge of tests and obstacles offered on the holodeck that included varied spatial distortions and energy discharges.

After seeing the rest of the lab, which was extensive, Seven and Kahn led the younger officers to the turbolift that deposited them two decks down. There, they took a brief tour through the geometrics department, where various planetary environments were studied extensively, from the rocks and minerals in the earth, to the atmospheric conditions that surrounded them. On the same deck, xenometrics was a large series of labs devoted to the culture and history of the various alien civilizations they would come across in Millennium's exploration. At the moment, the entire staff was fully involved with data pertaining to the Iboneb and the Okunda, two alien races between whom Captain Janeway had recently negotiated a trade agreement.

They returned to the turbolift which lifted them one deck up to the biometrics department, which seemed as extensive as the astrometrics lab above. It was presided over by Lt. Samantha Wildman, a stocky, blonde Human who seemed delighted to see Seven.

"Lt. Wildman oversees the planetary studies, as well as working closely with both geometrics and xenometrics," Seven explained. "You will each be spending time in the various departments, but for now, you shall begin in astrometrics."

"We can always use new bodies, Seven," Lt. Wildman offered in a friendly tone. "Particularly during away missions that require extensive sample gathering and micro-scanning. I wouldn't mind you sending them my way next."

Seven dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I promise to assign them to you during the next planetary scans, assuming they are scheduled for science duty at that time."

Marcos felt a little queasy, envisioning a series of away missions where not only would he have to ferry the scientists down to the planet's surface in one of the runabouts that flew like glorified rocks when the science modules were attached, but would also have to spend the rest of the time on the surface picking bugs out of mud and sticking them into tubes. He felt considerably depressed as Seven led the pair back to astrometrics and into one of the smaller labs where several people were working at flat tables containing star charts.

"For today, I shall assign you to Lt. Delaney," Seven said, motioning for one of the Starfleet officers to join them. "You shall assist her in creating the new navigational charts for this sector."

Marcos took one look at the woman he would be working with for the day, and abruptly decided that this assignment wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. Delaney was a blonde, buxom package of barely repressed sensuality who smiled easily and often, a decided contrast to the severe demeanor of her superior officer.

For every cloud, as his mother had said on more than one occasion, there was always a silver lining.

Over at tactical, Ro Laren worked with restrained energy, monitoring the rest of her security teams that were spread throughout the ship. Security was primarily dormant during this quiet stretch of space, but ready to spring into action at an instant's notice. The Bajoran had always been a bit of an enigma to the captain, even when they had served together on Voyager. Now, with the personal breech that had developed between them, the captain was less able to predict what Ro would do than before. The rift was something Janeway regretted profoundly.

Across from the security chief, posted at the Ops station, Ensign Tarn appeared to be having a small problem, a frown furrowing the space between her brows. The young woman was a pet project of the captain, posted to the alpha rotation despite Tarn's inexperience and lack of assurance. So far, Tarn was not working out as well as the captain had hoped after reviewing the young woman's outstanding performance at Starfleet Academy. Unfortunately, active duty  was different from being a cadet. Despite the best psychological profiling, all the simulations, and the stiffest challenges thrown at the cadets during the four year curriculum, there were still some individuals who survived the Academy only to fail during their first starship assignment. Of course, during the height of the Dominion War, cadets had been graduating with only two years of training at the Academy in a desperate attempt to fill the holes left vacant by the heavy casualties, but Tarn had been a recipient of the full four year courses. That doubled the disappointment Janeway was feeling about the young woman's lack of success.

From the corner of her eye, Janeway noticed Commander Zar rise quietly from his first officer's station and drift over to where the ops officer was working, obviously having detected the same hesitation with the young woman. If Tarn was becoming a disappointment, Zar was a most pleasant surprise. The captain hadn't known what to expect when she had met the young man who was to be her second in command during this tour in the Delta Quadrant. With a predominantly Cardassian appearance, the first reaction with him tended to be trepidation. But Zar was half Bajoran, a product of the Occupation on that planet, and considered himself a citizen of the Federation, having no particular loyalty to either of his parent's people.

Still, his appearance as one of the Federation's enemies ... the species most recently involved in instigating the Dominion war ... had made it difficult for Zar in his rise through the ranks. Janeway had been very pleased to discover he held no resentment or bitterness. She didn't know if she would have been as forgiving in his shoes, or as adaptable.

She watched as he appeared to assist Tarn in her tangle, whatever it was, leaving her looking more confident as he walked away from the ops station. Always a sign of a good first officer, Janeway thought. She caught his eye as he strolled past the auxiliary stations, and with a slight gesture of her head, brought him over to the command chair.

"The 'fleet pilots start their training in other departments today, correct?"

"Yes," Zar responded in a low voice, recognizing that this was a conversation between the senior officers, and not for the ears of the rest of the staff. "Beta and gamma squads are dispersed throughout the ship, while alpha squad is undergoing training in their holosuite."

Janeway nodded thoughtfully. "Bring the ship down to warp four. Run a battle drill. Let's see what happens, and how long it takes."

Zar stared at her a few seconds, and smiled slowly. He knew as well as she did that it would be the last thing anyone would be expecting, least of all Tom Paris, the ship's wing commander. Janeway flicked an eyebrow at him, then settled back in her chair to watch the fireworks.

Zar turned and stood at attention beside the captain, linking his hands behind his back.

"Helm, bring the ship down to warp four," he instructed in a strong voice. "All hands, this is a red alert. Battle stations. Auxiliary fleet, all pilots to their fighters. Prepare to launch."

Janeway resisted the urge to grin like a fool as the lights lowered to a crimson tint, and controlled chaos broke out on her ship. Glancing around the bridge, she could see Tarn set her mouth and settle into her station, not even affording herself a glance back at the senior officers. That was an improvement, the captain decided. At the helm, the Ferengi, Lt. Nog, powered down from warp seven, his small hands moving easily over the board. At tactical, Ro spoke steadily and easily, gathering her security teams, and directing them to various positions throughout the ship, preparing to repel boarders if necessary.

"On my mark," Janeway said. "Prepare to launch fighters." She touched the controls on the arm of her chair. "Mark."

"Squadrons away," Zar said.

The captain's eyes were keen on the viewscreen, waiting for the first wave of fighters to appear. Beside her, her first officer was like a rock, not fidgeting as he awaited her commands. Additional personnel, including Seven of Nine, appeared from the turbolift, taking their stations on the bridge. Janeway offered her spouse the slightest of glances, just an acknowledgement of her prompt presence, and was hardpressed to stifle a smile. The expression on the Borg's face was definitely disgruntled when she realized it was merely a drill.

"Five minutes," Zar announced after a period that seemed interminable, but then, it always did when it was a red alert. Time either flew by so quickly, it was unbelievable, or it stretched on as if not to exist at all.

"Millennium could be dead in the water by now," Janeway noted impassively.

"Depending on the opponent," Zar agreed.

At seven minutes, ten seconds, the first two waves of fighters appeared, falling into formation at port and starboard, looking a little ragged as they maintained warp four with the Millennium. It took another minute before the other squadron finally showed up, taking a position in front of the starship. Their formation was better than the first two, but not by much.

"Somehow, I expected better after Mr. Paris's passionate speech about his fleet's usefulness to me," Janeway noted dryly.

"There is definitely room for improvement," Zar agreed.

"Indeed." Janeway paused. "I don't really mind the final squadron being a little late. After all, the pilots were scattered all over the ship, and it's to be expected that they wouldn't launch together, but surely there should have been a quicker launch for the first wave. The training facility is right next to the alpha hangar, after all." She studied the fighters, her brows lowered. "So far, I am not impressed."

"I'm sure Mr. Paris isn't, either," Zar offered, "especially considering it was the alpha squad that didn't show up until last. The other two squads were the pilots who had been dispersed throughout the ship."

Janeway shot him a sharp look. She couldn't tell which squad was which, but she allowed that her first officer could, and it didn't bode well for Mr. Paris. "Stand down from red alert ," she instructed. "Call them in, Mr. Zar."

"Standing down from red alert," Zar responded, the lights on the bridge coming back to normal.

"Have all department heads provide reports regarding the results of this drill on my desk by 0800 tomorrow morning," Janeway added as she rose from her chair. "Inform Lt. Paris that I wish to see him as soon as he's back on board. I'll be in my ready room."

"Understood."

Janeway's command mask didn't falter until the door to her private sanctuary had slid shut behind her. Then she chuckled all the way up the ramp to the upper level where she retrieved the silver thermos sitting on the coffee table and poured herself a mug of Seven's special brew. It may not be an entirely professional attitude to take, but she truly enjoyed shaking up the crew now and again. A full drill hadn't been something she could indulge often the last time she had commanded in the Delta Quadrant, and it entertained her to compare response times with her previous ship to this advanced vessel. Surprisingly, Voyager rarely came up wanting in such comparisons, which meant there was still a lot of work for her to do with Millennium. Taking a seat on the curved sofa beneath the large windows that loomed over her, she put her feet up on the table and sipped her coffee with quiet enjoyment as she waited for her wing commander to make an appearance.

"That was a dirty trick," were the first words out of Paris's mouth as he entered the ready room, still wearing his flight uniform, his helmet tucked under his arm as if he had forgotten it was there. She could see the whites of his eyes, and his sandy hair stood up in sweaty clumps over his head, giving her insight into just how much effort had been required to launch the auxiliary fighter fleet as quickly as he had.

Janeway eyed him sardonically, a humorless smile playing about her lips.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she said silkily. "I'm sure any enemies will be far more courteous than I, and announce their attack well ahead of time so that you and your little fighters can be ready when they show up."

Tom stared at her, and then ran his hand through his hair, making it even more disarrayed, a rueful expression crossing his features.

"We were awful, weren't we?" he admitted, shame coloring his tone.

"What happened?" Janeway asked in an inviting tone, gesturing him to a seat.

He placed the helmet on the deck between his feet and shook his head at her offer of coffee. "The holodeck door jammed."

Janeway managed to restrain the snort of laughter, but it was difficult. Of course, if this had been for real rather than just a drill, her little voice reminded her, she would be far less amused at the situation.

"Two ensigns became excited and manually entered their release codes on the exit at the same time, temporarily jamming the locking mechanism." He shook his head. "That's no excuse. There was no discipline, and worse, I had left standing orders for beta and gamma not to launch until alpha did. Beta was actually the first squad ready to launch, but waited for me to grant them clearance." He exhaled audibly. "They won't make that mistake again."

Janeway studied him closely before nodding. "Am I to assume that this was an educational drill?" she asked with deliberate provocation.

His light blue eyes met hers squarely. "It was," he said steadily, though his cheeks flushed. "Obviously, we still have a lot of work to do. At least now, I know in exactly which areas."

She lifted her mug. "Excellent. I'll expect some improvement next time."

"Yes, ma'am." He glanced at her, and at the dip of her head indicating he was dismissed, he gathered up his helmet and left the ready room. She hailed the bridge, requesting that Seven and Zar join her, leaving Ro to hold the conn. The first officer handed her a padd containing the initial evaluation of the bridge crew during the drill.

"How did the civilians do?" she asked, eyeing Seven in particular. As chief science officer, the Borg had far more non-Starfleet personnel to deal with during an emergency than any other section of the ship, with the possible exception of the schools and play areas on deck fifteen.

The Borg lifted her chin. "There was undue excitement, preventing me from appearing on the bridge promptly," she admitted, a touch of dismay in her tone at such Human behavior. "Just as occurred when the Trabe attacked. There was little improvement." She tilted her head. "I will also note that the two pilots being trained in astrometrics left so quickly, they neglected to secure their boards properly."

"You'll have to allow for losing those particular officers during a red alert," Janeway said without any concession to her partner's outrage at such sloppiness. "They need to get to their posts quickly, and if that means they leave something running, then it's up to their fellow crewmembers in the science department to handle it."

Seven inclined her head. "Very well."

Janeway glanced at Zar. "I'm going to leave any future drills in your hands, Commander. Be sure to use them sparingly. We certainly don't want anyone to become complacent."

He nodded. "Yes, Captain."

Janeway lifted a brow. "A staff meeting will be scheduled for tomorrow morning to discuss what this particular drill has brought to light. I'll require a civilian presence there."

"I believe that Lenara Kahn has become the de facto leader of the civilians on the ship," Zar offered. "She holds the most authority within the chain of command thanks to Lt. Hansen's efforts, and the rest have responded to that by making her their official representative. I've already worked with her and Kes in creating a committee to oversee the educational schedule for the children on board the ship."

Janeway nodded. "Please inform Dr. Kahn that she is now officially the civilian representative."

Seven glanced at her briefly, almost as if in surprise that Janeway would be so quick to include the Trill scientist in what was a relatively sensitive position on the ship, particularly after her previous antipathy. Yet, Janeway knew it was important that the civilians not be overlooked in this situation. Despite the fact most captains on the larger vessels left it up to their first officer and ship's counselor to deal with any non-Starfleet personnel, Janeway wanted to have a more personal contact with them, feeling that it would make things go smoother, particularly during a crisis. She had to know in her heart that they would respond with the same loyalty and promptness that Starfleet officers would, and to do that, they had to believe they were a part of the process, not just considered super-cargo by the captain. A tiny, irrational part of Janeway might have preferred it not be Lenara Kahn with whom she had to deal, but that was the reality, and to be aggravated over it would be a waste of time.

"Dismissed," Janeway said, and as the officers left her ready room, she indulged in a brief look in her spouse's direction, just to enjoy how she looked as she walked away ... though it wasn't nearly as provocative as it had been when Seven wore those tight biometric outfits that had covered her like a second skin, and provided a clear view of the most delightful undulations.

Janeway stifled a wistful sigh at the memory, then returned her attention to the padd Zar had left for her, wondering how Ensign Tarn had performed on her first full battle drill in real space.

"When are B'Elanna and Ro supposed to arrive?" Janeway asked as she came out of the bedroom, her hands at her left ear as she fiddled with her earring. She was dressed in a silk shirt and dark pants, simple yet elegant, her silver wedding chain glinting visibly within the open collar of her cream colored blouse.

"They shall arrive at approximately 1835," Seven told her, glancing up to offer her spouse a brief smile. She tilted her head. "You are very beautiful, Kathryn."

Janeway grinned crookedly. "Thank you, darling." She leaned against the kitchenette counter where Seven was preparing the meal, reaching over to touch the Borg's cheek fleetingly with her fingertips. "You, of course, are exquisite."

Seven lifted a brow, aware that she was still dressed in her uniform. "Now, who is the 'sweet-talker'?"

"Every word is the truth," Janeway countered promptly. She glanced down at the vegetables. "Is there anything I can do? Did you want to dress before dinner?"

Seven hesitated, knowing well Janeway's ineptitude around the kitchen, but deciding that there was little time left for her to prepare herself before her guests arrived. She had to take the opportunity when she could. "Please, finish slicing the peppers," she requested as she handed her the knife. "Leave them on the cutting board. Do not place them in the wok."

"I think I can manage that," Janeway responded wryly, smiling as she moved around the counter to displace the young woman.

Seven strode briskly into the ensuite where she took a brief sonic shower and retrieved a more casual, civilian outfit for the evening. There was a time when her side of the couple's closet boasted few items, the young woman remembered as she began to pull on her garments. But Seven's time on Earth and her development into Humanity had heightened her fashion sense, no longer considering what she wore as completely irrelevant. Now, she possessed as much clothing as Janeway did, though the captain was always quick to insist that the Borg actually had more at this point.

When she returned to the living area, she was greeted by her guests who arrived while the young woman had been dressing. Ro Laren was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, while B'Elanna had opted for a more dressy approach, with a skirt and vest made of leather, indicative of her Klingon heritage. Over the years, the hybrid had come to accept both sides of her genetic influences, taking the best parts of being Klingon and Human, while discarding the old fears and insecurities that had plagued her early life. Her temper was still close to the surface, but she no longer gave vent to it as easily, nor did she indulge in the type of behavior that only drew her into trouble ... her recent attitude toward Command Zar notwithstanding.

Janeway had supplied them with drinks and the platter of hors d'oeuvres that Seven had prepared, and now the trio were talking casually as the Borg joined them.

"I am glad you came. I apologize again for having to cancel our initial plans."

She glanced fleetingly at Janeway, remembering what prompted the cancellation. Her partner had been suffering from the unexpected effects of alien pheromones that made her crazed with lust. The evening hadn't turned out to be all that unpleasant as far as Seven was concerned, but it had been very trying for the captain. Nor were Ro and B'Elanna completely cognizant of why exactly they had been unable to come to dinner that night, and Seven suspected it should be kept that way. Rescheduling the dinner had taken some time, however, and it suddenly occured to Seven that the ease of interaction with her friends was less convenient on Millennium than it had been on Voyager, though still better than it had been while on Earth.

"It's all right, Seven," B'Elanna assured her. "Your cooking is definitely worth waiting for."

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Thank you, but I assure you, there will be a sufficient amount to consume. It is not necessary to compliment the chef in order to secure the larger portion."

B'Elanna blushed, Ro chuckled faintly, and Janeway shot a smile at her spouse for the attempt at humor. Satisfied, Seven moved over to her kitchenette to finish her preparations while the other three officers resumed their conversation. She continued to listen to the discussion as she cooked, occasionally interjecting comments to maintain her presence in the gathering. Most of the talk seemed centered around how their new vessel was performing, how different it was from their previous ship, and what they hoped Millennium would be capable of in the future. There were also a great many comments about the various crewmembers, and she realized that Janeway was taking the opportunity to gauge the atmosphere on the lower decks, particularly around engineering. At one time, Seven had been able to keep her partner up to date on such things, but her new position as chief science officer prevented her from performing any duties in engineering. In fact, she realized with a certain surprise, she hadn't even been in engineering except for a brief tour of the deck early on, before Millennium had left dry dock.

It was almost as if each section of the ship had defined itself along the respective lines of duty, Seven mused, and the personnel within each department aligning themselves with each other. It was not at all like the small Intrepid-class Voyager where duties and responsibilities overlapped and merged, with each member of the crew expected to fulfill many roles on the ship. It had made for a tight, family type atmosphere, whereas on Millennium, it was more professional ... and colder somehow. Seven supposed that on a vessel the size of the Frontier-class ship, only the fleet pilots assigned as 'floaters' would be able to move in and out of the various sections at will, and she wondered if that had contributed to Janeway formulating this particular plan of duty assignments. It could build bridges between the various departments ... science, security, medical, engineering, command, and the auxiliary fleet ... that would otherwise be lacking. If Voyager had been a village where everyone knew each other, Seven thought, Millennium was a city, with its own distinctive neighborhoods.

After she put the lid on the wok to allow the stirfry to simmer for a few minutes, Seven returned to the living area and her friends, taking a seat on the arm of the chair where Janeway was sitting, slipping her arm across the captain's shoulders. Waiting for a break in the conversation, she offered her new theory to the others.

"I'm afraid such division is to be expected on a ship this size, Seven," Ro remarked. "I mean, let's face it, you have almost as many people in the science section as made up Voyager's entire crew roster. I have the same in security, and B'Elanna has a full complement in engineering. We just don't have the time to concern ourselves with any other section over the course of the day, unless it's for professional reasons."

B'Elanna nodded. "Exactly. We even have our own lounges attached to the various departments, and if it weren't for the fact that the Nexus has turned into such a hot spot, there wouldn't even be that much social interaction."

Janeway assumed a serious mien. "I don't know that such division is healthy. I guess I owe Mr. Paris some gratitude for his efforts to bring the crew together."

"I wish I had seen your face when you first walked in there." B'Elanna offered the captain an impish smile.

Janeway lifted a brow wryly. "I admit, I was somewhat taken aback. I don't believe any vessel in the 'fleet has a dance floor in its main lounge." She shook her head. "I'm still a bit concerned. Even on Voyager, it was possible for a crewmember to slip between the cracks and become lost. I have to believe it will be easier on this vessel."

"In that case, each section chief will have to rely on the departmental supervisors even more," Ro said reasonably. "Make sure that each of us keep tabs on the mood of our people, as well as their performance."

"Is that efficient?" Seven asked.

"It means a lot more delegation," B'Elanna explained to the Borg. "I have three senior engineers under me, one for ship maintenance, one for engineering maintenance, and one for the engine room itself. Plus there are various shift supervisors under them. On Voyager, I personally supervised all that. I just can't do it here."

"I also have three assistant security chiefs reporting to me," Ro added. "One is in charge of internal ship security, one for external needs such as visitors to the ship, and a third who's responsible for overseeing any away mission requirements."

Seven blinked. She had thought herself inefficient for assigning four departmental heads to cover astrometrics, geometrics, biometrics, and xenometrics, not to mention making Lenara Kahn her chief liaison for the civilians within her section. Apparently, other sections on the ship required the same organizational requirements as science did. She began to feel less inadequate.

Janeway sipped her drink. "I know that the chain of command within such a large vessel requires more distance from the average crewmember than occurred on Voyager, but I don't have to like it."

"Zar's pretty good at keeping track of things," Ro said. "I don't think you have to worry about that area."

There was a small silence as Janeway stared blankly at the Bajoran, obviously surprised to hear such a compliment coming from her security chief. Then, the captain's shock was compounded.

"She's right," B'Elanna said, supporting her spouse. "It took me awhile to warm up to the guy, but I have to admit, he knows his stuff. I don't think you're going to see many crewmembers fall through the cracks." She paused, and then added awkwardly, "I think he's really good at seeing when a person feels ... out of place, and knows how to dig out what's really wrong. He's already come to me about two officers who were having personal problems that the department heads were overlooking." She appeared vaguely rueful. "We managed to work it out."

Seven could only imagine how that encounter had gone, but then, lately in her visits to the Nexus, she had noticed that there had been less antagonism directed at Zar by either woman. Obviously, they had undergone a change of heart in recent weeks.

Janeway blinked and set down her glass, looking very thoughtful. "I'm sure he would be very good in that area of personnel management."

Seven glanced at her spouse, and decided it would be a good time to start dinner, just to give Janeway time to adjust to this new reality where Ro and B'Elanna were actually supporting the first officer rather than finding him an offense to their sensibilities. Seven decided the captain really did miss a lot when she didn't spend social time with officers such as B'Elanna. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure how to alter this habit of her spouse, who had yet to develop a circle of aquaintences of her own within Millennium. Perhaps Kathryn was maintaining her distance from the crew a little too well.

Seven was still considering it after dinner had finished and their guests had made their farewells, all promising to do it again, very soon. As she prepared to retire for the evening, she looked over at her spouse who was seated on the edge of the bed, still dressed in her robe.

"Kathryn?"

Janeway glanced over her shoulder as she brushed her hair, granting her partner a warm look. "Yes, darling?"

"Is Millennium everything you hoped it would be?" Seven slipped between the sheets of their bed, supporting herself on her elbow as she regarded her spouse curiously.

Janeway didn't answer right away, drawing the brush absently through her hair, her eyes distant as she considered it, a half smile playing about her lips. "It's still a little early to tell. Certainly, there are disadvantages to commanding such a large starship, including the sense that I'm not able to be as close to my crew as I was on Voyager. But so far, they're outweighed by the advantages."

"Explain," Seven requested as she settled back onto her pillows.

Janeway put the brush down onto the night stand, and stood up, removing her robe to reveal her compact form clad only in one of the Borg's t-shirts. Her hips and buttocks were left bare, somehow appearing more provocative than if she had simply gone without nightwear at all. Seven refused to allow the delectable sight distract her.

"We're safer in this ship," Janeway responded, getting into bed and fluffing up her pillows before lying back against them. "I'm not as ... constantly concerned about how we'll get through the next challenge that comes our way. Our directives are different, as well, with scientific exploration a priority rather than merely getting the ship home in one piece. It grants me a greater sense of satisfaction. I also have something of the same sort of freedom I had with Voyager, the knowledge that I'm the one making the decisions out here, without the benefit of second guessing from above. I like that a great deal."

"Yet, there isn't the same kind of family atmosphere."

Janeway reached over and entwined her fingers in the Borg's left hand, taking care with the mesh. "Our time in the Delta Quadrant was a unique experience, Annika. If we hadn't been lost, such a close atmosphere probably wouldn't have existed. I would have commanded Voyager in the Federation with the same sort of distance that I do the Millennium."

Seven lifted her chin, surprised. "Indeed."

Janeway offered her a bit of a smile. "In fact, if you had been a science officer that came on board my vessel in that situation, I would never have fallen in love with you." She paused. "Let me rephrase that. I would never have acted on it, though I might have arranged a transfer for you."

Not sure she liked that concept, the Borg frowned uncertainly. "You would not want to be with me?"

"On the contrary, that's why I would have made arrangements to have you assigned to another vessel," Janeway said. "At least until we had built a personal relationship apart from our professional duties. It would have been difficult ... long distance relationships often are ... but it would have been the only way to do it in such circumstances."

Seven considered that. "Then I am glad I met you while you were lost in the Delta Quadrant."

Janeway rolled over, nestling her head on the Borg's shoulder. "So am I, my darling," she said, snuggling close as a smile touched her lips.

"So am I."

Though a Vulcan, T'Shanik did not share some of her people's dislike for the 'irrational' Humans and other emotional species. Her family, of course, would have been disapproving of her choice of friends, but since she had been doing a great many things to upset her family lately, including pursuing a posting on the Millennium, T'Shanik decided, quite logically, that there was little she could do about it. She found Humans to be very interesting companions, as well as an unending source of fascination

She did not smile when the other two women joined her, but she tilted her head respectfully in greeting, gratified to see them.

"Have you ordered yet?" Alexis asked, settling into her chair. A contained, elegant female with golden brown hair and level eyes, she was older than the other two. Medical personnel required far more training and planetary based experience before being allowed to apply for deep space duty, so this was her first starship assignment.

"Not yet," T'Shanik replied in her even tones. "I was waiting for you."

"Great," Elisa said, studying the menu. She was the youngest of the three, fresh from the Academy.

T'Shanik would not allow herself to feel envy ... at least past that first recognition of the emotion rising within her ... but if she could indulge such a feeling, it would be very strong when she contemplated the young redhead. Ensign Tarn held a position in the command crew itself, assigned to the bridge, and to the alpha shift no less. T'Shanik would have applied for such a position had she believed that there would have been the slightest chance that such a junior officer would have been accepted. Which only went to show that Humans, for all their failings, were superior when it came to 'taking chances' and creating their own opportunities. It was a lesson that T'Shanik would not forget, and she had made a vow that the next time a position was open, she would apply, regardless of any logical reasons that might prevent her from obtaining it.

She supposed she was fortunate to have achieved the posting on Millennium that she had, and that it hadn't 'unfortunately' become unavailable to her. Her older brother and sister were not above pulling strings to guide T'Shanik's career, including an initial arrangement that saw the young Vulcan spend her first posting in the safe confines of a space station on the other side of the Federation throughout the entire duration of the Dominion War. T'Shanik's precipitous application and acceptance to Millennium had undoubtedly occurred before either sibling could prevent it, and she had barely reached DS9 in time to join the vessel before it departed for the Delta Quadrant.

"I think I'll go with the pasta," Alexis decided finally.

"Me, too," Elisa allowed.

Tarn was a follower, not a leader, T'Shanik thought suddenly, expecting better of the bridge officer. She swiftly and automatically repressed the less than charitable thought. Though she occasionally felt rebellious against the restrictions her culture forced on her, she had been brought up as a proper member of Vulcan society. Repressing illogical emotion was as ingrained in both thought and behavioral patterns as breathing.

"I shall have the seafood salad."

Alexis glanced at her, a slight frown on her face. "I thought Vulcans didn't eat meat."

"Replicated sustenance formed from bio-organic fungal material, is hardly consuming animal flesh," T'Shanik said dryly. "Regardless of how it is supposed to taste."

The doctor grinned faintly. "Finding ways to circumvent the rules, T'Shanik? You should fit in well here."

Tarn, who had just finished programming the women's selections into the menu embedded in the tabletop, glanced up curiously. "What's that supposed to mean? If there's one thing I've learned, it's better to go by the book." Her face grew long. "That way, if you screw up, at least you're not compounding it by breaking rules in the first place."

"Are you kidding? Captain Janeway is infamous for 'bending' regulations to fit her agenda," Spencer revealed. "I've been talking with Dr. Lewis, and he's absolutely full of stories of how things operated on Voyager in the Delta Quadrant. According to him, it was the 'Janeway or the highway' method of command."

Tarn shook her head in obvious denial. "Not from what I've seen. The captain's totally by the book."

"Well, she can't be entirely by the book if she's married to the chief science officer," Alexis pointed out. "Relationships between captain and crewmember aren't exactly forbidden, but such fraternization is against protocol and rarely occur, unless the circumstances are unique."

"The captain also placed an inexperienced officer at Ops," T'Shanik reminded the younger woman. "That is certainly not 'by the book'."

Tarn blinked, thinking about that. "You're right. I guess maybe she does do things a bit differently than how we learned them at the Academy. I hadn't looked at it that way."

"Maybe all captains are like that," Alexis said thoughtfully. "By the time they achieve that level of command, they've learned to be flexible."

"Not all," T'Shanik said, before she could stop herself.

The other two regarded her curiously, with expectant expressions, and she realized they required clarification.

"My ... brother is a starship captain," she said finally, reluctantly.

"Really?" Tarn's face was filled with bright interest. "Which ship?"

"The USS T'Kumbra."

Alexis raised her eyebrow. "That's an all-Vulcan vessel, isn't it? Captain Solok is your brother?"

"Yes."

"Wait, if Solok is your brother, that means you're related to Admiral Sitak." Tarn stared at T'Shanik as if she had never seen her before.

T'Shanik did not flinch, though she wanted to. "She is the eldest daughter of our family," she said formally, though she doubted either of the Humans realized the significance of that position, or the title.

"Why didn't you apply to the T'Kumbra?" Alexis asked.

T'Shanik quickly controlled the tiny ripple of horror that shivered through her at that thought.

"My family ... does not approve of my accepting starship duty. In truth, they did not even approve of my initial application to Starfleet, though they did not actively attempt to prevent it." Probably because they thought she would fail, she added silently.

"So what are you doing here on the Millennium?" Tarn asked guilelessly.

T'Shanik fixed her dark stare on her, and Alexis, watching this with interest, forestalled the Vulcan having to answer by putting her hand over Tarn's wrist in subtle warning. "I suspect T'Shanik was somewhat ... innovative in her application. Which leads me to repeat, you should do well on this vessel."

"Perhaps," T'Shanik allowed, though she was not entirely displeased by the doctor's assessment.

Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of their meals, delivered by Crewman Paryk bearing a large tray. T'Shanik briefly wondered which department the alien was assigned to. No matter what time she came to the Nexus, he always seemed to be behind the counter, serving drinks, providing food service, and generally being entertaining.

"Ladies," he said, placing the plates with a flourish. "Enjoy your meals. You should know that they were specially programmed by Lt. Morus from biometrics, who is an absolute whiz around a food replicator."

"Impressive," Alexis said dryly, earning a smile and a blown kiss in her direction from the young man who swooped up his tray and departed.

"Cheeky bugger," Tarn said with amusement as she watched the blue-skinned, lanky young man return to the bar.

"Civilians," Alexis noted carelessly as she speared her pasta with her fork.

"On the contrary, according to Dr. Irwin in geometrics, he is a crewman," T'Shanik corrected.

"I never see him in a uniform," Alexis countered.

T'Shanik lifted her eyebrow, the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "That is merely the information I've received," she said, not finding it worthy of discussion.

"In either case, he's certainly cheered up this place," Tarn said, digging into her lunch. "The Nexus wouldn't be the same without him."

"That's true," Alexis agreed.

After lunch, T'Shanik reported to beta hangar for ship maintenance, another addition to the new list of duties the pilots were expected to master. Somehow, when she applied for the pilot's position in the auxiliary fleet, she hadn't envisioned being jammed into a plasma vent of a fighter, cleaning out the excess exhaust residue. That was supposedly the job of the ground support team, but the pilots were now supposed to know how to repair and maintain the fighters as well as fly them. In this, Lt. Paris was adamant, and while he had listened patiently to the various groans and moans regarding their assignment to other areas of the ship, even seeming to share their displeasure to a certain degree, he allowed absolutely no complaints about this duty ... not that T'Shanik would ever complain, of course. She could, however, allow a certain irritation to leak past her impassive features in the privacy of the dark tube she was in.

She supposed Lt. Paris had a point when he insisted that there might be an occurrence where a pilot would have to force-land the fighter and make repairs in order to return to the Millennium. But in her opinion, anything that damaged the hardy little fighter enough to require it to go down, was usually beyond repair anyway, and the pilots would be better served by refreshing their planetary survival skills ... assuming they somehow survived such a landing in the first place.

She had entered the Academy with such high hopes, she mused as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn streak, not only for a stimulating and challenging career in Starfleet, but with the expectation that she would finally be away from her family who had monitored her every move on Vulcan. She had assumed that once she had proven she was capable of following in the footsteps of her esteemed older siblings, she would be free. Instead, those family members in Starfleet had utilized their respective positions of authority to make sure she was continually posted to mundane assignments where she would be safe. The entire quadrant had been at war for years, yet T'Shanik never saw a Changeling, or a Jem'Hadar or for that matter, a Cardassian. Unless one counted Zar who had also been posted at DS12, kept out of the way of the war, as well.

T'Shanik understood that part of her family's protectiveness sprang from the fact that she had been a 'late' baby, one born to a couple in their second century who had believed their fertility had long ended, despite the pon farr that still occurred every seven years. Decades younger than the rest of her siblings, she had been a very fragile lifeform, sickly at birth, with the very real possibility present that she could die at any moment. Even when she survived her first few years and became healthy, the solicitation for her physical well-being continued, eventually becoming oppressive. It was possible her family had not tried to forestall her application to Starfleet simply because they did not believe she would make it past the initial screening.

But she had, and made it through the Academy as well. It was with a sort of grim satisfaction that T'Shanik slithered out of the plasma vent, and stood next to it in her disheveled uniform as it was inspected by one of the maintenance crew. She had persevered, she thought, passing all the mental and physical challenges thrown her way. That her beta squad had been ready to launch first during the recent battle drill, long before alpha squadron had managed to free themselves of the holodeck, was something to be proud of, as much as she was capable of such emotion. With continued dedication and attention to duty, she was confident that she would eventually be recognized for being the competent and outstanding officer she was, finally ending up where she belonged.

On the bridge.

She carefully reached behind her and drew her hand lightly along the thigh pinning her buttocks to the bed, stroking gently along the firm muscle. Seven stirred, her leg instinctively pressing down on the captain, her arm pulling the captain more under her, tucking her beneath the warm shelter of her curvaceous body.

Janeway wasn't able to do much in this position except enjoy the sensation as Seven's lips traced a searing trail along her neck, up to her ear. She quivered as the Borg's hands began to smooth over her back and sides, inciting her growing desire.

"Good morning, Kathryn," Seven murmured.

"Hmm, good morning ... ah, darling," Janeway responded, twitching slightly as the Borg's fingers traced over a particularly sensitive spot, as well as a few that weren't as sensitive, but responded to the attention nonetheless. She exhaled sharply as the tip of the young woman's tongue flicked her earlobe, then languidly traced over the curve to the soft spot at the hinge of her jaw. "Why don't you let me up?"

"I believe you are fine just where you are," Seven noted reasonably. "But you would be more accessible on your back." With one easy motion, she flipped the captain over, and then used her left hand to capture the captain's wrists above her head to hold them in place. Her body pressed down on Janeway insistently, keeping her pinned to the bed.

Janeway laughed in a mix of surprise and delight, squirming mightily but unable to wiggle out from beneath the young woman who continued to caress her lavishly with a casual physical prowess that sent chills of excitement through the captain. That the Borg was much stronger than the captain was understood by both, but the few times Seven chose to display that superiority never failed to thrill Janeway on a primeval level, particularly in bed. The captain also enjoyed offering a certain amount of resistance to the Borg, keeping her legs tightly closed until Seven parted them with a strong but gentle knee, gasping as she felt the young woman's fingers touch her intimate flesh. Seven seemed to enjoy the game as well, her eyes a brilliant blue, the pupils wide and full as she fondled Janeway, fingertips swirling over the ridge, bathed in the heat and moisture.

"Do you like this, Kathryn?" she asked as she looked down at her possessively.

"You know I do," Janeway responded shakily, swallowing hard, her mouth dry from her increased respiration.

"What do you want me to do now?" Seven asked in a throaty murmur, slowing her caress, becoming teasing, touching her with only the lightest of contact.

Janeway groaned, aware that she was in trouble now.

"You know," she managed.

"Explain."

"You always complain that I talk too much in bed."

Seven tilted her head, evaluating her evenly. "Ah, did you wish me to stop entirely?" Her fingertips abruptly stilled on the throbbing nodule.

Janeway closed her eyes. "God, no," she exclaimed in a heated whisper. For a brief second, she wondered if Seven's teasing would go too far, if she would actually cease altogether, but slowly, with deliberate intent, Seven resumed her caress, a delicate stroke over the sensitive ridge that left Janeway weak.

"What do you want, Kathryn?" Seven demanded again, her lips next to the captain's ear.

Janeway exhaled, trying to come up with something coherent as it grew progressively difficult to think. How did she want this to proceed? There were several positions that could be utilized, not only here in the bedroom, but in the other rooms that comprised their quarters, including the ensuite and the arboretum. There were a multitude of accessories in the compartment in the head of the bed, adding a variety of enhancements to their encounter. Then, there was simply Seven herself, a delightful choice of fingers or mouth or both ... skilled hands and the most accomplished tongue Janeway had ever encountered.

"I want everything," she groaned, "but we don't have the time."

The Borg actually laughed, a low chuckle of amusement. "Fortunately, our off day is scheduled for tomorrow. We could save this moment until then."

"Don't even think it," Janeway warned, her hips undulating as she tried to press against Seven's teasing fingertips, urging her to a more forceful caress. "Damn you." Her breath left her in a moan as Seven's index finger carefully circled her opening, then eased inside, exploring her gently. "Yes ... a little deeper...."

Seven added a second finger, flexing within the captain before withdrawing, only to plunge back inside with slightly more force.

"Oh, yes," Janeway hissed, and closed her eyes. "God, darling ... please ... use your mouth..."

That required Seven to release her grip on the captain's wrists in order to trace a searing trail down her body, spending delicious moments at her breasts to kiss and lick the nipples before moving on, but at this point, both women were keenly aware that Janeway wasn't about to go anywhere. The captain's head went back, her mouth open in a silent cry as she felt Seven's mouth cover her, tongue dancing over her ridge as the Borg continued to probe inside with her long, elegant fingers. Janeway reached down, clutching Seven's head to her, wanting to prolong the sensation, but aware that the lingering foreplay had left her more than ready to respond to what her partner was doing. Then, suddenly, Seven found that special spot inside, pressing on it insistently, and there was no more resistance, no more hesitation, no more teasing, just desire and need colliding in one heavenly explosion of pleasure that shuddered through Janeway's body, leaving her weak and trembling in the aftermath.

The captain was certain she had cried out her lover's name in that moment of bliss, and perhaps added a few more instructions that undoubtedly did not make sense, and could hardly be utilized in any event. Seven was smiling faintly when she slid back up Janeway's body, her lips pungent, tasting of the captain's essence, salt-sweet and strong. The captain kissed her hard, savoring the evidence of her partner's love for her, feeling boneless and ready for sleep, though to leave her partner aroused, as she undoubtedly was, seemed the ultimate in rudeness.

Fortunately, the passionate kisses they were sharing served to rekindle the captain's desire, renewing her energy levels, and she was able to reach out for Seven with honest appetite. She recognized that it wasn't her best effort ... their lovemaking worked better when Janeway attended to Seven first, then could relax in the reciprocation ... but she granted herself an 'A' for effort, and certainly, Seven did not object, unless her cry of delight upon her climax was actually one of disappointment.

From the depth and passion of the Borg's kiss afterward, Janeway did not believe it was disappointment.

Both were relaxing in sated bliss when the lights came up and the computer announced the time was 0600 hours. Janeway sighed wistfully, reminding herself that she could always sleep in the next day if that was her choice, and rolled out of bed.

"Shower together, darling?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Is that an invitation?" Seven responded, uncoiling from the mattress like a goddess rising from the seas, causing the captain to repress a sigh of lustful regret that they couldn't spend longer with each other.

"A standing one," Janeway assured her as she activated the shower, programming it to be a little warmer than she normally liked, but a little cooler than Seven generally used. For the couple, it was the perfect temperature, a compromise between their natures, and in a way, a microcosm of their life together. Separately, they still had their own quirks and directives, just as strong as before they were together, but in each other's company, they tempered them, making allowances that they wouldn't for anyone else. It was what made their marriage work, not denying themselves and who they were, but respecting the other's idiosyncrasies.

At least, we try to respect them, Janeway thought with an idle grin as she stepped beneath the spray, wincing a bit until she adjusted to the heat. In the beginning, both had naturally been intent on making the other become who they wanted, but as time passed, they had come to understand that any changes would have to come from within, voluntarily. Everything else that couldn't be altered, they were gradually learning to accept.

"What are you thinking?" Seven asked softly as she drew a soft sponge over the captain's back and sides, then reached around to lather her front lavishly.

"Just us," Janeway said, smiling as she leaned back into the wet, warm embrace of her spouse. "How we've adapted to each other over the years."

"Indeed?" Seven prompted, brushing her lips over the captain's neck, making Janeway shiver.

"Yes," Janeway breathed, closing her eyes, then inhaled deeply before pulling away reluctantly. "Save a little for tomorrow, love," she added slyly, glancing at her sideways.

Seven lifted a brow, but she didn't object. Instead, she merely returned the captain's smile, and together, they finished their shower. Janeway dressed and quickly made her way out to the living area, accessing the replicator since it was her turn to make breakfast. She decided upon waffles, which both women liked, adding blueberries and cinnamon to Seven's, while hers had strawberries and cream.

Seven set the table, and activated the coffee maker as Janeway carried the loaded plates over to the table. As the pair sat down to enjoy their meal, Janeway picked up the padd that was awaiting her attention, an update downloaded from the main computer on what had occurred while she had been off duty, offering a check on the ship's status and some of the early reports from the night watch.

"So how are the new additions to your section working out?" She shot a look at her spouse over her glass as she sipped her juice.

Seven hesitated, and then lowered her fork which had been on its way to her mouth.

"It is inefficient. They clearly do not wish to be there, and that makes it even more difficult to train them in the duties required of an astrometrics officer."

"They don't have to want to be there, Seven," Janeway said reasonably. "It's your job to see that they are familiarized with what goes on there, not to make them like it."

"I am aware of that." A certain tenseness abruptly edged her tone, and made Janeway realize this was not going as well as she had hoped when she and Zar came up with the idea. "It is extremely difficult to train the pilots to work in the department when I only see them two days out of a rotation. Worse, on the next rotation, I am not assigned those particular officers, but two other pilots who were previously assigned to engineering or security. For example, by the time Lt. T'Shanik and Ensign Marcos, the first pilots assigned to the science section, return to astrometrics, they will have forgotten all they learned, which requires going over the material a second time. It is an inefficient endeavor."

Janeway regarded her, evaluating her partner's words, as well as the subtle emotion threading through them. It wasn't just annoyance, she decided. Seven was honestly upset that her section was being disrupted in this manner. Was it because the young woman had too much responsibility in her new position, and this added duty was the straw that broke her down? Or was providing the fleet pilots with additional assignments an idea that sounded better in concept than in actual execution? If the latter was the case, and Seven had arrived at the point of being angry this soon in the project, then Janeway could only imagine the moods of her more volatile section chiefs, such as B'Elanna Torres or Ro Laren.

"I want to make this work, Seven," Janeway said, schooling her voice to gentle reason, calming the Borg. "I intend to address this issue in the staff meeting this morning." She paused. "We're not doing this merely for the sake of keeping these pilots busy, I truly do want officers who can step into any department to fill vacancies. That's how we did it on Voyager, and it's how I want to do it on Millennium."

"It may not be possible to accomplish such a task on this vessel." Seven looked stubborn. "We all have greater responsibilities."

Janeway frowned. "Yes, we do, but perhaps we need to be a little more defined on what duties we're actually expecting everyone to perform."

Seven didn't look as if she agreed, her face troubled, but she didn't reply. Janeway resisted a sigh, realizing that she shouldn't have brought it up over breakfast.

"I'm sorry," she said with honest regret. "Ship's business should stay outside these doors. It's not fair of me to put you on the spot like this just because I have your undivided attention. Don't concern yourself with this until the staff meeting. It's certainly not your problem alone. Everyone will have to work together to come up with a solution."

"What if there is no solution, Kathryn?"

"Then we think of something else." Janeway reached over to put her hand on the young woman's, squeezing her fingers lightly. "I really am sorry to have brought it up in our quarters, Annika."

Seven hesitated, then and dipped her head. "Apology accepted." Apparently willing to let it go for the moment.

Janeway dipped her head, catching the woman's eyes in an evaluating glance. "Aside from this, is everything else all right, darling? Is being chief science officer working out for you? I'm not asking as your captain, but as your spouse."

Seven nodded, relaxing. "It is, Kathryn. I enjoy my new position. It is challenging, but not overwhelming." She paused. "I am irritated with this new responsibility because I do not see how I can make it work. That is frustrating. Perhaps my display of that frustration was ... excessive."

Janeway nodded. "I understand. We'll discuss it further at the meeting. I'm sure you're not the only one with reservations about the situation."

As this one apparently was. The senior staff had more than a few complaints about the 'fleet officers disrupting their smoothly running sections, particularly engineering, as stated loudly and at great length by B'Elanna who had every detail of her problems listed in a padd. Dr. Pulaski, representing the medical section, was not pleased by having officers underfoot without enough medical training to make them useful. Ro Laren was having a little less trouble finding duties for the pilots in her section, but she made it clear she had no intention of ever using them in an actual operation requiring security personnel. Seven maintained her own counsel, which she supposed she wouldn't do if she weren't married to Janeway. But anything she said would be no different than what she had initially mentioned over breakfast, making such comments redundant to the captain, and ultimately, would add nothing to what Pulaski, B'Elanna and Ro were already saying.

"I'm rather surprised to discover my senior officers aren't more flexible," Janeway said, eyeing her staff sardonically. "We're talking about two or three crewmembers, four at the most, being added to the various departments. I can't imagine anyone not being grateful for those extra bodies."

"But those weren't your orders," B'Elanna protested heatedly. "You don't want these people used as green crewmen for the duration of the tour. I was under the distinct impression you want them trained for duties within the department. That means arranging schedules, as well as freeing up someone to teach them, which actually takes away personnel that I need. Because whomever I assign to them is always dealing with new officers every rotation, all that person becomes is a glorified babysitter. I don't know about the rest of the ship, but I can't afford to have an officer tied up like that."

"It's the same in sickbay," Pulaski said. The medical officer had actually come out of semi-retirement to accept the position of CMO on Millennium, and Seven was aware that she once taught Janeway at the Academy. It afforded the snowy haired woman with a certain leverage over the captain that Seven did not quite understand, but found fascinating to observe. "Captain, I can't train someone to be a medic when they only show up for a day or two every three rotations."

Janeway pursed her lips slightly, her hands folded in front of her on the table as she regarded them with lowered brows. "I've listened to all the reasons why this isn't working," she said in a sort of tone that Seven recognized immediately as her spouse being at the end of her patience with the negativity surrounding the topic. "The concept is sound, if faltering in execution. Give me ways that we can make this succeed."

A variety of expressions passed over the faces at the table, primarily dissatisfaction and dismay, but most were also aware that Janeway was not asking a rhetorical question. She expected them to come up with concrete suggestions to make this project a viable one.

"Do not alter the officer's assignment each rotation," Seven ventured, knowing that the awkward pause that followed the captain's demand had to be broken. "If the science section must have representatives from the fighter squadrons every four days, make sure they are the same representatives instead of sending those officers to another department. I want the pilots I've dealt with assigned exclusively to science. That will allow me to make measurable progress with them."

B'Elanna still didn't look happy, but she seemed to find this idea a little more palatable than trying to train the entire fleet in slow increments.

"I agree with Seven," she said grudgingly. "If we have to take on these new officers, at least make them the same ones every time. Y'Nark and Dell do seem to have some talent for warp core mechanics. Jenkins and Salter aren't too bad in quantum physics."

"I think that can be arranged," Janeway said. "Tom?"

Lt. Paris, who had been listening to the lack of appreciation for his officers with a somber face, nodded. "That would actually be easier when it comes to making a schedule," he said, a certain relief edging his tone. "Besides, this is really disturbing their concentration, Captain. They don't know what's expected of them in each department, and I can't tell them, because I don't know, myself. We've had more 'fatal' crashes in the holodeck this past week than in all the previous weeks combined." He shook his head. "That's not good for them. They start knowing on a gut level that the simulations aren't real."

B'Elanna stared at him. "They aren't."

Tom waved off the comment. "I know, but until now, they've treated them as real. Lately, there's been a certain sort of casualness they're displaying that I just don't like. Too many are sticking with the fighter as it goes down, trying to bring it back under control until it's too late to bail out."

"Take off the safeties."

Ro Laren's larconic tone sliced through the discussion like a Borg cutting edge through cable. Seven lifted an eyebrow, noting how the others in the room, most notably in the captain, stared at the security chief.

"I'm not sure I like that idea." A touch of sharpness edged Janeway's voice.

"Captain, if these pilots were on a space station, they wouldn't be training in a holodeck, they'd be flying actual patrols day after day, in real space conditions," Ro said reasonably. "A crash on a training run holds the same danger as a crash under combat conditions. A holodeck just can't match that, no matter how 'real' you make it seem. They don't care if they're 'killed' because there's no harm done. Program it so that they can actually break a bone, or bloody their nose, and they'll start paying more attention. It certainly works in security."

Seven knew that the security chief had a certain freedom that other officers of the ship didn't, just as the Chief Medical Officer did. She just had not known that taking the safeties off the holodeck without the captain's authorization was one of those allowances.

"Commander Ro's right, Captain," Paris said. "I was actually going to ask if you'd grant permission for me to take the safeties off, to make their training runs in the holodeck as realistic as possible."

"I don't know that I'd like subjecting those officers to that amount of danger," Janeway said, a tiny furrow appearing between her eyebrows. "You're making it possible for someone to die. These are only kids we're talking about."

"They'd be facing that danger if they were flying patrols out of a space station," Commander Zar said, glancing at the captain. "I think it's a good idea. Granted, it's damned hard to explain if someone manages to actually get themselves killed on the holodeck ... but it's just as hard to explain a fatality in a standard training patrol. As long as everyone's clear on the potential danger they're facing, I believe it would be useful."

Janeway regarded him for a few seconds. It didn't matter that the first officer, the chief of security and the wing commander all agreed on this, it would be her decision to make. She simply didn't like the idea. Seven recognized the captain's instinctual need to protect her crew, particularly the younger members, was warring with the knowledge that each of her officers had good reasons to support their arguments.

"I need time to consider that request," Janeway said finally. "I'll let you know by the end of the day."

"Aye, Captain." Pari